


Like Unto a Crab

by BennyTheInkbot



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Baltimore Crabs (Blaseball Team), Body Horror, Gen, crabs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26384032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BennyTheInkbot/pseuds/BennyTheInkbot
Summary: if we want to win we must become stronger (idk how this happened but here we are. Crabs going through some changes)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Like Unto a Crab

_Are you Angry?_

that which lurked within the shoals called to them, each.

It came to them in slumber, the great chitinous beast. Watching. Through the brackish water of the harbor as its image rippled and shifted below. Always on the same dock’s edge. Fog one way, the vast empty expanse of glassy lagoon the other. A water still save for where bare feet broke through its surface. The source of the very ripple that now distorted below.

Grey sky above reflecting back. Their own reflection superimposed on the beast as it spoke to them. Great Crushing Claw so far and yet so _close_ to the soles of their feet in the frigid water. 

_You must free me_

It said. 

_You must work as one. Together._

Some said it appeared in a cage. Trapped by seaweed slick iron once full of scrapped viscera of animals no one could name. Or simply didn’t want to name. Others as many shifting, moving, chittery things nipping at their ankles and toes in low-tide surf. 

_You must come to me_

The ladder at the docks edge was slimy. 

The iron and the water around it gray as slate. 

_Are you angry_ The voice asked 

At first it was just underneath. 

Skin, calloused against bats and gloves. Growing less and less malleable. Sunburns talking longer to heal. Skin underneath still bright and shining as the dead flesh peeled away. The space between fingers growing subtly less prominent as time sped merrily forward. As the crowd jeered from the stand, peanut shells crunching beneath sidestepped feet. The red-running rain staining the creases in their uniforms. The static like the roar of the ocean in their ears. 

_Are you Angry?_ It asked. 

Below the glass surface of the water. The dulled colors, the noise gone save for the static of The Voice. Bubbles of air rising slow to the surface around them each as they sat, sedate mediation as The Crushing Claw would undo and remake them. Faster. Stronger. All senses. All _sounds_ but dull ripples of echoes. 

Was that the  _snapping_ of bone or of a pennant in the fog. Whipped by errant winds of a summer storm. Canvas cracking spectacularly against the force. Cheerful reds and acidic blue among gray, gray reflections. 

_ Are you angry?  _ It asked.  _ Do you struggle and fight, to be hated? Do you wish to be angry?  _

It’d begun to break through the surface. Great claws like tree limbs emerging from Forrest’s back. Nagomi’s many eyes each slowly turning black, beady. Oliver’s many vents and joints growing heady with barnacles and silt sand. Corroding skin green and flaking . 

People jeered. Laughed in horror as they’d scuttle to field. Sunburnt, no good Crabs. 

_ Are you Angry?  _ The voice asked. 

_ Then we must grow stronger.  _


End file.
